


error 404: shame not found

by squishyjongin



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Bottom!Taemin, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Dirty Talk??, SIN EVERYWHERE, Swearing, mentions of drug usage, no cringy flower!taemin though y'all safe, nude cam modeling, unholy mentions of jesus christ, we're all going to hell bring snacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2019-07-05 01:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15853479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishyjongin/pseuds/squishyjongin
Summary: Being a webcam nude model is a perfectly respectable career, in Jongin’s eyes. But when he sees Taemin in real life for the first time, completely on accident, he doesn’t quite know the camboy etiquette to follow.Alternatively, Jongin has the hots for someone absolutely out of his real-life, non-paid league, and his friends just won't let him live.“You and I are going to have a great time together, Jongin."





	error 404: shame not found

**Author's Note:**

> pls read the tags n warnings just in case!! nothing too terrible goes down but just make sure okay!!

Jongin is trying to balance three textbooks, a vanilla latte and two cookies and the corridor is much too crowded, and Jongin’s thoughts are very far away from his actual physical body. He has midterms approaching, and he doesn’t feel nearly as prepared as he should, and he doesn’t think he ever will, either.

You see, Jongin falls into the very specific group of people who are both procrastinators and perfectionists; those who refuse to do something until they feel like they possess the required set of knowledge and skills to ace it. This, unfortunately, includes studying for his tests. Jongin _could_ have kept up with reading ahead of schedule for every class, but the truth is he barely understands anything without the guidance of the class itself; and so he didn’t, and everything has piled up on him, exactly the way everybody has always told him it would.

So Jongin pads around campus with tired eyes and a pissy frown, hood pulled over his head and hair messy underneath, only bothering to look up when strictly necessary.

Until he hears it.

He recognizes it immediately, because he’s heard it so much it’s engraved in his memory, and if his midterms were on the subject instead of developmental psychology, he would get straight A’s for sure.

The laugh is quieter than it looks; a little breathy, even. The kind of laugh you make fun of at first, but end up growing fond of. Jongin is quite fond of it; although he’s always heard it through his speakers.

Taemin does look like himself, by all means. It’s just shocking for Jongin to see him in the real world, interacting with other real humans, laughing his real life laugh with his little real life hand covering his real life mouth.

Jongin remembers everything he’s said he’d do to that mouth and gets the sudden urge to go to church.

The shock makes him topple forward, spilling half his latte on the stranger before him. The brunette automatically spins around, yelling “Dude, what the hell!” and Jongin apologizes, but it goes unheard. However, both the student and his rage disappear down the hallway before Jongin can do anything to make it up (although he has no idea of what he could do). There are droplets of coffee on his textbooks, and Jongin wipes at them with his sleeve.

He then remembers to look up, and only six feet away from him, Taemin watches him with an unusual expression, torn between amused and sympathetic, with just a hint of sheer interest. Jongin can’t believe his life is playing out like this.

He hurries to his room, and doesn’t get out for the rest of the day.

 

It had all started out of curiosity. Before that, it had started as a joke.

It was the week right after midterms, where everyone feels like they deserve a break, and so they had all crammed in Jongin and Sehun’s room with a couple bottles of vodka and fruit nectar and some other beverages Jongin preferred not to ask about, and Yixing’s questionable mixing skills. At some point, Baekhyun complained about his job, promising to quit and joking about becoming a camboy, stirring a number of laughs and a good amount of bickering. It was eleven a.m. and they had all had a couple drinks already, and some quick googling brought them to Streamate.

They only stayed for a little bit, looking through the performers and chatting lightly, commenting on some of the guys here and there, but mostly laughing at the people on the chat, sad and desperate and disgusting more often than not.

Jongin retained the screenname of one of the performers, the only one of them who seemed to truly enjoy what he was doing; but he promises it was an accident.  


 

In all truth, he only wants to see what the fuss is about. He doesn’t feel lonely; he didn’t relate to any of the people he saw on the public chat. He isn’t even all that horny.

Jongin works a part time job as a barista at the cafe down the street, and his tips can allow this. So he makes an account on the site, finds the performer’s schedule (if he’s going to do this, he’s doing it well) and manages to snatch a private session.

He’s gorgeous; that much is undeniable. His hair cascades around his face in chestnut waves, framing a face too pretty for this world. The camera goes only to his collarbones; the boy is bony and slim. Jongin can tell, because the only pieces of fabric visible in the frame are his black duvet covers.

**Taemin** : well, hello there

Jongin stares at the screen, suddenly unsure. Why hadn’t he planned this beforehand? Would it come off as lame to say he only wants to have a conversation? More lame than jerking off to a stranger on a webcam? More lame than paying for it?

**Jongin** : hi there, as well

Jongin watches a grin form on the boy’s face.

**Taemin** : do you have a webcam? i like knowing who im talking to

He winks at the camera, his smile blinding. He looks young, younger when he smiles, although his profile says he’s 20. He doesn’t look 20, but Jongin chooses to believe it, for his own sake.

Jongin does have a webcam, but he isn’t completely sure he wants to turn it on. The model seems to notice him taking a little too long to reply (after all, this _is_ paid) and props:

**Taemin** : come on, don’t be shy. i don’t bite, unless asked

It’s not really his words, but his giggle what sells it. And although Jongin is in sweatpants and his tshirt has seen better days, he allows the camera function on his laptop before going on full screen mode. He’s sheepish and hesitant, despite the fact that none of this can gone wrong, technically, since he doesn’t plan on doing anything remotely racy in this half an hour.

One of Taemin’s eyebrows cocks upwards as he reclines back onto his pillows, all piled up behind him against the headboard. A little bit of his chest comes to sight. Jongin doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to; which doesn’t necessarily mean he succeeds.

“Oh, wow.” The model’s voice startles Jongin; it’s smooth as honey, and it matches his looks rather well. Jongin watches the boy’s mouth curl upwards into a side smirk. It looks dangerous. Jongin should back away. “I haven’t gotten someone so pretty in a very long time. You and I are going to have a great time together, Jongin.”

  
“What are the chances.” Sehun bites into his panini uninterestedly. Jongin stabs a cube of tomato with unnecessary force. “What are the chances that, out of all of the universities that exist in the world, he’d attend this one. And what are the chances, still, that I’d ever cross paths with him, considering how many people come here anyway. What. Are. The. Chances.” He punctuates each word with a jab of his fork, sending pieces of leafy vegetables flying everywhere. Sehun doesn’t seem to notice.

“Pretty much nonexistent,” agrees Yixing, sitting down next to Jongin and wiping the table with a napkin to clear space for his plate. “You are either very lucky or very unlucky, depending on how you go about it. Also, you have lettuce in your hair,” adds the boy, picking it from the dark strands and tossing it back onto the table, as if that was its rightful place.

“Right???”

“Okay,” gives in Sehun, probably realizing Jongin will not shut up about this for the next five weeks, but it might stop sooner if he just caves in; “but what are the chances that it isn’t actually him and you’re getting worked up over nothing?”

Jongin points at him with his fork, and Sehun unconsciously backs away just slightly. “I would have thought so too if it was only his looks, but I heard him _laugh_ , Sehun. What. Are. The. Chances.”

As Sehun’s hands fly up in rendition, Kyungsoo lowers himself next to him, frowning at the mess Jongin made of their table, with a Joonmyeon that looks mildly confused pining next to him. “Why are you yelling at him and why is there Roman lettuce everywhere?”

“Jongin found out his online boyfriend attends this university exactly and apparently he’s prettier in person,” summarizes inaccurately Sehun around a mouthful of bread and chicken breast.

Jongin snickers at him from over his salad. “He is _not_ my online boyfriend. He’s a camboy.”

“What does that mean?” Joonmyeon, Kyungsoo’s classmate and their newest addition to their clique, is a nice guy, but mostly clueless when it comes to the online ways. He is, as Sehun likes to put it, deeply anchored to the Real World.

“Dude strips and jacks off on camera for people like Jongin, who sometimes get infatuated with him, and gets paid for it,” clarifies Sehun.

Joonmyeon lowers his sandwich. “People do that for a living?”

“It is a perfectly valid and ethical career,” insists Jongin, chewing on his Caesar.

“Not to be brassy,” butts in Yixing, unaware of the fact that he has pasta sauce all over his mouth; “but I would say if you and another someone jack off to each other on the regular, your friends should be allowed to call him your online boyfriend. It must be written somewhere, like the Bible or something.”

“I doubt there’s anything about camboys on the Bible,” questions Kyungsoo while seasoning his spring salad.

Jongin chews fiercely on a cube of chicken breast. “Can we please not talk about anything having to do with Jesus Christ while we’re discussing the issue at hands?”

“Haha,” chuckles Yixing, “ _at hands_ , get it? Because they jack off on camera, haha. Like, their dicks, get it?”

Kyungsoo stares at Yixing until his laugh dies down; then picks up a crouton from his salad and tosses it right at his face.

“Thanks,” says Jongin. “What am I going to do?”

“Get laid,” says Sehun flippantly, as if it was very obvious and Jongin was just very stupid. Which is probably what he thinks anyway.

Jongin pushes his empty plate aside. “Yes. That’s right. I’ll come up to him when he’s with all his friends, and be like _hey I’m the dude you masturbate with on Streamate like you do with all of the other dudes, so do you wanna go up to my room now or later?_ ”

Yixing seems to ponder around a meatball. “Well, yes, that doesn’t seem very plausible.”

“Am I just gonna have to, like, not go on any more private sessions?” Jongin sounds defeated, even to his own ears. It’s kind of pathetic, really.

“Or,” Kyungsoo suggests, “you could just do as you always do and just not bring it up. Or bring it up and see what happens.”

“Or you could use the chance to grow out of this weird ass fixation you have with him. Whichever works.”

Jongin frowns at Sehun, and the blonde simply shrugs, unapologetic. “Remind me again why I’m friends with you?”

 

Over time, Jongin learns that Taemin likes to change his looks about as much as he likes going on cam. In the span of a year, he’s had his hair at various lengths and diverse shades of blonde and brown, black, and even red for a while. He manages to look good in all the hairstyles the same way he does with the clothing (this is, when he _is_ actually wearing clothes), albeit Jongin has his favorites. The time he found him with cinnamon hair well past his shoulders, fringe going just past his eyebrows, Jongin had come so hard he had to lie down for a few minutes until he felt able to form coherent thoughts again, and Taemin poked fun at him the next four sessions.

This time he looks fairly normal, at least on the Taemin scale. Granted, he still looks better than ninety-nine percent of the world population, and Jongin’s mouth waters as soon as the image pops up and the model grins at him knowingly.

“Ah, it’s my favorite viewer,” the boy greets him, his hair a dirty blonde this time, tousled in a way that pretends to be unintended. He never calls them customers, like the rest of them do. “Hadn’t seen you in a while. Was starting to miss you.”

Jongin can tell why Taemin is one of the most requested performers on the website. He makes a point to tell people exactly what they want to hear. And it’s dumb, really, because Jongin is thoroughly conscious that this is, for him, a business, but his words send a rush of warmth down his core.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, despite knowing it doesn’t really matter. “Just had my finals. Had a rough pair of weeks.”

Taemin leans into the camera, a small simper on his full lips. Everything he does is flirty. Jongin wonders, at the back of his mind, if he acts like this in real life too. He decides that no, probably not. He also decides it doesn’t matter. “Right. Finals. How did you do, Jongin? Did you ace them?”

“I hope so?” Jongin adjusts his laptop, laying it on top of his thighs as he bends his legs to get just the right angle. “I think I did, mostly. Pretty sure I passed them.”

The blonde’s smile stretches into a smirk. “That’s my boy. You sure do deserve a reward.” Jongin knows this part all too well, but it never gets old. Taemin’s shirt is made of a flimsy material, and when he tosses it out of the frame and it lands on the floor, it doesn’t make a sound. “You’re always so good to me, Jongin… Will you undress for me?”

Taemin has this way of making Jongin forget that this is a service; that this is where his tips from the cafe go. He has this way of making Jongin feel wanted. He usually feels average and boring, but Taemin makes him feel like the most attractive, desirable thing in the world. And so he pulls his shirt off, fighting the flush that creeps up his neck, not so much from timidity (they’ve done this way too many times to be bashful) but more because of the thrill of it. “Fix the angle,” Jongin instructs, as if Taemin needed any guidance. “I can’t see you.”

With a sneer, the blonde reaches past the screen, muscles stretching under taut skin. He has the lean body of a dancer, built for speed and grace, and it conveys in every single one of his movements. When he sits back down, Jongin catches the glimmer of the stainless still of the barbell on his navel; something he’d been thrilled to discover on their first encounter.  “Better?”

“Much better,” agrees Jongin, his hand already grazing along the elastic waist of his sweatpants.

“Jongin,” he calls, peeking up at the camera from under a rim of dark eyelashes; “do you ever think of me when we’re not talking?”  
Jongin chuckles. “You have no idea,” he says, watching Taemin undo the buttons of his jeans slowly, one by one. He has the white boxers Jongin likes; the ones that are tighter and thinner, and that leave to the imagination only what’s strictly necessary.

“What do you think about?” he asks, hand grazing past his crotch gingerly.

Jongin’s own hand slithers past the waistband of his boxerbriefs, gripping around the base of his shaft firmly. “You, with your hands tied up above your head,” he answers, far past any wariness. “You, dripping wet from the shower. You, exactly as you are now.”  
Taemin hooks his thumbs in the elastic of his Calvins, pulling them down just enough that Jongin can see the sharp angle of his hipbones. “Where are you, then?”

“Typically?” says Jongin with a smirk of his own, he’s helpless to the blonde’s games; “inside you.”

Taemin lets out a sound halfway between a chuckle and a conceited giggle, and it’s the hottest thing Jongin has ever heard. “Just the way I like it.” He pushes both his jeans and boxers past his thighs and then shimmies them off, hands stroking back up his torso with gentle fingers. He’s hard already –has been for a while. Jongin could tell, hence his bias towards this specific set of clothes.  
Jongin grips at his cock harder. “You’re so perfect. How are you so perfect?”

He watches Taemin’s fingernails scrape back down his stomach, back arching to the touch. His thumb and index stop to tug gently at the piercing for a moment. “Don’t say it too much, or I might believe it.” A tiny smile pulls at his lips. “I can’t see you, Jongin. Take it off.”

The boy uses his free hand to tugs at his sweatpants, letting them pool along with his underwear around his knees. He lets his fingertips run across his underside, a low hum emerging from deep in his throat. Taemin worries at his lower lip with his teeth, corners curling upwards. “You know how I like seeing you like this, don’t you? All hot and bothered?”

“Probably not as much as I like seeing you,” Jongin replies, assertive. “Touch yourself, Taemin.”

“Yes sir,” banters the blonde, palm wrapping around himself loosely. He always does this –he’s slow and masters at teasing, and his paused movements make the heat spiral in Jongin’s guts and pool right down to the very bottom of his stomach. His hips unwittingly buck upwards, thrusting into his fist. “Good boy,” murmurs Taemin, his own hips mimicking Jongin’s, free hand gripping at the sheets beneath him.

Jongin lets out a grunt, unsure of whether it originated from the feel of his palm or the look on Taemin’s face. He looks at him through the camera from under his lashes, eyes hooded with arousal, and Jongin’s hand picks up its speed. “Taemin…”

The blonde’s thumb runs across the crown of his cock, right down the slit, and he bites his lip so hard Jongin wouldn’t be surprised to see a bruise by the time they finish. “I wish you were here.”

That does it; two more flicks of his wrist and Jongin is spilling across his stomach, hands shaking and vision going blurry. His head falls backwards, raven hair sticking to his damp forehead, and when he finally comes down to his senses and his eyes open, he’s greeted with a Taemin that’s just as gone, with his eyes glued to the screen and his mouth open in a quiet moan, his orgasm visible in high quality and pleasure painted on his face.

When he reaches to his bedside table for tissues, he does it with a grin, and Jongin watches him clean himself up. “You make the prettiest faces, Jongin. I bet they’re even more wonderful in person. I can’t wait until I see you next…”

 

Jongin doesn’t have time to worry for the first weeks, because he’s behind on the schedule Kyungsoo helped him make and he still has about a-million-and-two chapters to study. He reads diligently about abnormal psychology, pathologies and biopsychology, and by the date of his midterms, he thinks he’s mostly prepared. When he takes them, he doesn’t falter too much, and he walks out with a general sensation of success he hopes isn’t fabricated.

This is the time when he would generally wait until Sehun is out with Baekhyun or somebody else and get on the chat room, claiming his favorite camboy as quickly as he can. He’d talk about how he thinks he might only get B’s and over, and he’d tell himself he’s in it to relieve stress, but he wouldn’t be able to hold back the little voice in the back of his head that tells him there’s something he enjoys aside from the physical satisfaction, and that has to do with that glint of pride he sees in Taemin’s eyes whenever he mentions a success.

He’d remind himself that it’s stupid, because it’s Taemin’s job to tell him he’s proud, to tell him he’s good; it’s his job to tell Jongin everything he wants to hear. But, at the end of the day, Jongin will still buy it. Literally.

So Jongin busies himself with extra shifts at the cafe, now that he doesn’t have to spend every waking hour cramming for his exams, thinking that this is his safe place. This is where he keeps his mind off his problems; where all he has to think about is the difference between a cappuccino and a latte, and all he has to remember is to be as kind as he possibly can.

Jongin does not imagine that, right here, at his safe place, his problems will come right at him.

He gets called to tend one of the tables, and he agrees with a nod while he finishes cleaning up the one a couple left coated in sugar. When he turns around, he sees the mop of fawn hair leaning over what seems like half a dozen textbooks and another handful of notebooks, a pen on the boy’s right hand and a calculator on the left.

“Um,” calls Jongin unprofessionally.

Taemin looks up from his notes, black ink in a handwriting tiny and messy that spills over the margins. “Hey,” he greets, to Jongin’s surprise, somewhat bashful. Jongin hadn’t realized they had to be awkward. He still doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be, but seeing the older boy, usually shameless, look so coy tints Jongin’s cheeks a rosy pink.

“Hi,” says Jongin anyway, because the least he can be is polite. “What can I bring you…?” he asks, doubtful.

The boy rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. He has bags under his sleepy eyes, and his skin looks dull and ashy. Of course; midterms aren’t on the same week for all students ever. “A hazelnut latte, please. And a blueberry muffin would be nice.”

Jongin nods, unable to move for a moment. He notes the difference between this _please_ and the _please_ ’s he’s used to, thinking it speaks volumes. When he finally wills himself to get back to the counter, he allows himself to watch Taemin from a distance.

Seeing him like this is a completely different experience. Here, he isn’t Taemin the entertainer. He isn’t Taemin the sex god, Taemin the boytoy. Here, he’s just Taemin, trying to pass his classes Taemin, too tired to try and pick nice clothes Taemin. It’s a Taemin he’s seen glimpses of, the times they finish too quickly and make light conversation for the rest of Jongin’s time. But even then, Taemin never puts down his act completely, too used to the pressure of the camera.

This is a Taemin Jongin can see himself getting to know, even without having anyone take their clothes off. This is a Taemin that’s even more dangerous than the one that’s hot and he knows it. This is a Taemin that’s beautiful and has no idea.

Jongin pads back to his table with Taemin’s coffee and his muffin, and an extra handful of napkins. He knows Taemin is clumsy despite his grace. He puts the tray on his table, careful not to cover any of the notes he’s revising. “Tell me if you need anything else,” he indicates quietly, not quite expecting the boy to hear him, engrossed as he is.

But his head rises easily, eyes locking with Jongin’s in a way that feels somehow more intimate than everything they’ve shared so far. “Thank you,” he says softly, with a tiny smile that makes Jongin’s guts twist; “I will.”

Taemin spends the afternoon at the café, and Jongin gets the pleasure of watching the sun set, warm light bathing Taemin through the window. He orders two more lattes during the time he stays in his booth, but Jongin’s shift ends before Taemin finishes revising. Jongin can’t help but glance back at him as he goes out the door, backpack hanging lopsided from his shoulder, and Taemin waves him goodbye with a faint smile.

 

“Let’s see if I got this straight,” Sehun voices. He doesn’t bother to pause his game of Call of Duty, sitting on the floor as he is, choosing instead to speak over the background noise. “Not only you’ve been pining after the same camboy for the past months, which is pathetic in its own; but also, when you happen to catch him in real life, you don’t do anything about it.”

Jongin feeds another bite of noodles into his mouth. “I mean,” he chews, “I did treat him the coffee and the muffin. The ones he had while I was there, anyway.”

Sehun takes half a second to glower at him. “Yes, but you didn’t talk to him. You didn’t do anything. You literally only kept paying him for stuff.”

“He was studying, Sehun!” Jongin spills ramen broth on his hand in frustration. It burns, but he licks it away. “I don’t know camboy etiquette! Maybe I’m not supposed to act like I know him??”

Baekhyun, stretched on Sehun’s bed with his legs crossed at the ankles, looks up from his phone. “Have you googled it? Camboy etiquette?”

Jongin reaches to his bed and grabs his pillow, hitting Baekhyun square on the face with it. “I can’t just google my way out of this!”

“Ow! Look, the way I see it,” he insists anyway, going back to his phone like Jongin totally isn’t in the middle of a crisis; “he isn’t acting like he doesn’t know you. He even waved at you and shit.”

“But have you seen how pitiful and helpless he looks?” Sehun sounds bored. Sehun _is_ bored. Sehun is the worst friend ever. “Even _I_ would have waved, I think.”

Jongin’s snickers go unnoticed. “I guess that’s true, he could just be polite,” agrees Baekhyun.” And exceptionally good at what he does. Which doesn’t leave you much margin, to be quite honest.”

“I know,” mutters Jongin, slurping down what’s left of his ramen. “And now it’s just going to be all weird if we go on cam.”

“Or not. There’s only one way to find out.”

  
Baekhyun succeeds at pulling Sehun out of the room, promising to get him bubble tea as a reward; because Sehun is evil, but he’s a child at heart, and the trick to getting around with him is knowing how to play him. Bubble tea always does the trick. 

The chatroom is even more crowded than usual, and his request for a private session keeps getting rejected. By the third time the screen flashes red, Jongin is right about to log out, because he can handle rejection in real life, but not in a context where people won’t even virtually and theoretically sex him up for money.

But then it flashes from red to green, and when the private window opens, Taemin grins at him once again.

Jongin doesn’t hesitate to turn on his webcam, vaguely aware of the fact that this isn’t, technically, a stranger anymore. Jongin has made coffee for this individual.

“Hey there,” he starts, his own smile an echo of the other boy’s.

“Glad I could catch you before you were gone,” he says, eyes apologetic. “Today was… crazy.”

“Hm,” replies Jongin, disregarding. “You look much better today, though. Maybe that’s why.”

A grin spreads on Taemin’s face. “Caught me,” he gives up. “Had my last midterm three days ago, and slept Friday away. Took Saturday to myself… Sunday, here we are. Thanks for the coffee and the muffin, by the way. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s alright.” Jongin allows himself the beginning of a smirk, enjoying the role reversal. Even when Taemin lets him lead, he never really has the upper hand. “How did you do, Taemin? Did you ace them?”

The older lets out a laugh, loud and ringing. His hand flies up to cover his mouth, and it’s actually quite adorable. “I did, I did,” he answers between giggles. “I’m pretty sure I deserve a reward.” He then looks at the camera, and sounding absolutely charming, he asks: “Jongin, are you free tonight?”

 

“You’re actually taller than I had expected,” is the first thing Taemin says to him when he opens the door.

“You’re actually much more adorable than you play to be,” is Jongin’s reply, right before pressing him up against the closet door he’d seen consistently on his cams.

Kissing Taemin is _actufactually_ much better than Jongin had ever imagined, because the older’s small frame fits with his own in a way he can only deem celestial. His skin is impossibly smooth under Jongin’s palms, creamy and warm, and his fingers fit just right in the crevices between his ribs.

Taemin’s arms wrap around him tightly; almost a little _too_ tightly, because Jongin couldn’t peer himself away from him even if he tried. He isn’t, though; he’s much too content relishing in the expanse of Taemin’s neck, biting and nipping at it with ease, down to his shoulder, up back his throat, and then up his jaw and even further, at the pierced lobe of his ear. Taemin’s fingertips knead his scalp, sometimes gripping in a way that could hurt, but doesn’t.

His legs wrap around Jongin’s waist tight enough that he can have his arms free; free to pull Taemin’s shirt past his head, to pull off his own, both ending up somewhere on the carpeted floor. He only puts Taemin down onto the bed to scrape down at his torso with his fingertips, in the way he’s seen him do on camera and that he knows makes him quiver. He doesn’t even have to hold him down to kiss at the dip between his collarbones, to mouth a stripe down to his navel, where his teeth catch his piercing and he rolls it on his tongue, the boy’s fingertips running through his hair. It doesn’t take him any effort to strip Taemin of his jogger pants, and when Jongin pecks his way back up the boy’s stomach, his hands come up to cup Jongin’s face, pulling him in for a kiss. Jongin gives in, hands resting on the pillow at either side of his head, and Taemin’s hands fumble with buttons of Jongin’s jeans until Jongin manages to wiggle them off.

Taemin grips at Jongin’s waist, pulling him closer, and then Jongin is grunting low in his ear as he grinds their crotches together, his fingers pushing Taemin’s fringe off his forehead so he can look at him properly. And, as he rids Taemin of his boxers, Jongin finds himself wanting to drag it; he wants to find out how to trigger the choked sounds that have Taemin’s throat vibrating beneath his lips, to see exactly what buttons he can push in order to throw him off the edge.

It soon becomes almost like a game, like Taemin’s body is a map and Jongin is using kisses to mark earned territory. It’s the most pleasant and rewarding match of tactical wargame Jongin has ever played.

It’s not long before Taemin is tugging down at Jongin’s underwear, with pleading eyes and a little breathy _please_ , and Jongin can’t help but dip down and kiss him again.

“Where do you-”

“Bedside,” Taemin interrupts him; “second drawer. Jongin-”

“Got’cha,” says Jongin, a little out of breath himself. He finds what he’s looking for easily, propping himself back onto Taemin in no time. He doesn’t hurry grazing his hands up Taemin’s legs, delighted at the way they spread before him, without questionings. The skim of a knuckle on the inside of his thigh earns him a groan, and Jongin chuckles, amused by the boy’s impatience.

Jongin fiddles with the small bottle, tossing it beside him after coating up his fingers. Taemin hisses at the sensation, but warms up to it after Jongin presses the first digit past his rim and even a little further, his legs spreading wider to give Jongin space to work on. He adds a second finger after a few moments, eyes wandering along the boy’s slim body, palm rested flat on his stomach and teeth nibbling at his lips, tongue peeking out to soothe the swollen flesh. Taemin hums into him and Jongin swallows it, breathes it in.

A third finger is a stretch, and it has Taemin wriggling beneath him. The hands on Jongin’s hair become insistent, eager, impatient. “Jongin, fuck, just-”

Jongin places a trail of kisses along his neck. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he insists, his free hand wrapping around Taemin’s cock, dainty.

“You’re not going to break me, for fuck’s sake.” His voice comes out hoarse and raspy, distorted with restraint. Jongin can’t say no.  
He tears the foil package, rolls on the condom and lathers himself in lube for good measure, and when he lines himself with his entrance and pushes in with ease, Taemin’s head drops backwards, Adam’s apple bobbing on his throat and fingers clamming at Jongin’s sides. It’s only natural for Jongin to reach down and nose along Taemin’s jaw, to place light kisses on his temple, on the top of his cheekbones, on his closed eyelids. It’s only natural for Taemin to crane up his head and catch his mouth in his own, to run his tongue right across Jongin’s lips, to mutter into them to _move, just move_. And when Jongin picks up the pace, now that he knows that he’s alright, he rolls his hips in the way he knows will have Taemin calling out his name exactly the way he likes it; except better, because this time he doesn’t have to ask.

Taemin’s hair is in a messy crown around his head, his knuckles white from holding down onto his mattress, and from his mouth falls a string of _mh_ ’s and _ah_ ’s and _there_ ’s, little breathy whimpers in between, and Jongin doesn’t think anything he has ever heard had turned him on more than this.

At some point, Taemin gathers up enough strength to hook his leg around Jongin’s hard enough to make him topple sideways, and takes his chance to roll on top of him, hovering above him with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes Jongin knows all too well.  
“I thought you liked to watch,” he breathes out, though it pleases Jongin to hear he’s out of air, too.

“You can bet I do,” he agrees, and he does watch Jongin slide himself down on him. His eyes water with the effort to keep them open; he doesn’t want to miss a second of this. He lets his hand trail up the boy’s torso, the other coming down to wrap around him, first pumping in sync with the cadence of Taemin’s hips. It’s only natural then for Taemin’s hand to find Jongin’s, fingers lacing together and holding him there, here, now.

Jongin feels high. He’s high on Taemin and his scent, high on the grip of his fingers and the taste of his skin. He’s high on the sounds, on his own name coming out in choked syllables from Taemin’s mouth, and on the way his eyes keep locking on his; until his movements become erratic, his eyes go shut and his thighs are trembling, and he’s spilling all over Jongin’s hand.

And it’s tight and hot and _amazing_ , and from one second to the next it’s all too much, and Jongin can’t see, can’t feel anything but Taemin beneath his palms. And when his vision goes white, when a low grunt escapes from his throat and everything but Taemin disappears, Jongin swears he can touch the clouds.

 

“I can’t believe you got laid in the real world with the same person you get laid by in the virtual world. That’s some raw shit right there.” Yixing stares at the posters on Jongin’s walls, sort of as if they contained all the secrets of the universe. “Goals, man. True love, right there.”

Jongin looks over at Baekhyun, eyes questioning. “Is he high?”

Baekhyun’s shoulders hunch in a shrug. “Is he ever not?”

“Did he charge you?” asks Sehun, although –Jongin is convinced– he already knows the answer and doesn’t really mean it, and is only trying to piss Jongin off. It works.

“He’s not a prostitute!” he snaps crumpling the paper napkin in his hand into a tight ball and tossing it at him with as much force as he’s capable of.

Sehun laughs so hard he has to wrap his arms around his own stomach. “Alright, alright. Are you seeing him again?” he asks once he’s calmed down, stealing the bag of chips from Baekhyun, and he sounds almost interested. Almost.

“Well,” reasons Jongin, “I got his number.”

“True love, I’m telling you. Nothing can break you apart.”

Kyungsoo gets the bag from Sehun and shoves a handful of fries into Yixing’s mouth, only to shut him up. He doesn’t seem to notice his real intentions. “That’s a good start,” he compliments.

“I hope so,” admits Jongin. “I kind of really like him. Is that lame?”

And, just as he’s saying this, his phone chimes with the sound of a new message.

**Taemin** : free for a coffee date?

 


End file.
